


Save Tonight

by Sally0



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Coffee, College, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hot Chocolate, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Late Night Conversations, Moving On, Moving Out, Parent Tony Stark, Then More Coffee, scotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 06:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally0/pseuds/Sally0
Summary: Peter’s last night at the compound before moving away to college. Neither of them is willing to let it end. But of course, it must.





	Save Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this early this morning during a bout of insomnia. I was in bed watching the clock advance and it reminded me of a beautiful fic I once read on FFN (see end notes). So I adapted it to our favourite father-son duo.

Peter lounges on the couch; Tony is slouched in an armchair.

 

The room is lit only by the soft glow of the gas fireplace in the corner.

 

The clock strikes eleven. They glance at it, but say nothing.

 

Tony rises to refill his coffee.

 

“Hot chocolate?” he asks from the bar.

 

“I’m good.”

 

The gentle gurgle of the drip machine fills the silence.

 

Tony skips the armchair, stopping at the couch instead. “Wanna move the leg?”

 

Peter’s leg drops to the floor. He sits up to make room.

 

Tony sinks into the plush cushion beside Peter. He sips his coffee too soon, burning his tongue slightly.

 

Peter opens Candy Crush.

 

Tony pretends to check his emails.

 

The clock strikes twelve.

 

“It’s getting late,” says Peter.

 

“Yep.”

 

Peter switches to Sudoku. Tony gets another coffee.

 

“Black Sabbath?”

 

Peter considers. “AC/DC.”

 

“You heard the kid, Fri. Low volume.”

 

‘Thunderstruck’ begins to play softly.

 

The clock strikes one.

 

Tony switches to scotch.

 

Peter turns off his phone.

 

“Can I try some?”

 

“Absolutely not. Nice try though.”

 

They chuckle then, their eyes meeting briefly before they quickly look away.

 

Neither of them speaks again for a while.

 

The clock strikes two.

 

The AC/DC playlist ends with ‘You Shook Me All Night Long.’

 

“Friday, play some Guns N’ Roses,” says Peter into the silence.

 

Tony frowns at him.

 

“You can pick the next one, promise.”

 

“You never used to like this music.”

 

Peter shrugs. “It’s grown on me.”

 

“Remember the first time you came to the lab?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You covered your ears and begged me to turn off my ‘old man music’.”

 

“And you just turned up the volume higher.” He smiles at the memory. Then murmurs, almost to himself, “I’ll miss that.”

 

Tony looks away.

 

The clock strikes three.

 

Tony refills his scotch. When he returns, he sits closer to Peter; their shoulders touch. He props his feet on the coffee table and Peter does the same. The kid’s smaller feet brush against Tony’s as he adjusts his position.

 

It tickles, but Tony doesn’t move away.

 

He wordlessly hands the scotch to Peter to taste.

 

Peter sputters and makes a face at the burning sensation on his tongue. Tony chuckles.

 

“I’m tired,” yawns Peter after a while.

 

“Me too.”

 

Tony switches back to coffee. He brings Peter a hot chocolate.

 

The clock strikes four.

 

Peter’s sips can be heard over the quiet music.

 

Tony’s coffee gets cold on the end table; he forgot to drink any of it.

 

The Guns N’ Roses playlist ends with ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’

 

Outside, the sky melts imperceptibly from black to a cold grey; the horizon is visible as a faded line of gold.

 

Peter whispers, “You choose the next one.”

 

Tony doesn’t answer. He puts a lazy arm around the kid’s shoulder and squeezes. Peter’s eyes close and he melts into the embrace, slowly leaning over and dropping his head to rest on the older man’s chest.

 

A bird chirps outside.

 

The clock strikes five.

 

“There won’t be a next one, kiddo.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The "clock strike" format for this fic was shamelessly (and very ineptly) borrowed from the Sherlock Holmes ficlet "Last Night at Baker Street" on FFN, written by the inimitable Tristan-the-Dreamer, whose brilliant fics come closer to Doyle’s writing than anything I’ve ever read outside of the man’s original works. You should drop what you're doing and go read all her works right now. Sorry, Tristan, this one doesn’t do yours justice.


End file.
